


Impossible

by MercySewerPyro



Series: The Tales of the Valiant Nine [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, OR IS IT, POV Second Person, Post Towerfall, Trans Male Character, just another story of a guardian, shoves own lore in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercySewerPyro/pseuds/MercySewerPyro
Summary: You're an impossible Guardian. A Guardian who should not exist.





	Impossible

You're an impossible Guardian. A Guardian who should not exist.

  
You were born the moment the Light was eclipsed, with armour already charred and streaked with melted black forks. There were marks of twisted lightning across the chest plate, across the arms, across your shin plates, as if you had already faced the storm and come out singing.

  
And the thunder does _sing_. It sang above you when you were reborn, the crack of lightning strike and the pounding rain that nagged at your mind with familiarity heralding your awakening, illuminating a flash of blue on the ridge above you. Jerking up, you brought up your fists, instinctively feeling that you could take on a horde of slavering Dregs despite how slight your stature is, readying for a potential fight. You initially ignored whatever words the shining, shivering glow that had brought you back murmured, so brought on edge by the four-armed silhouette that you had seen. She was struck by the covering of the Traveller’s Light. You were struck by the fact that in the next lightning flash, the figure was gone.

  
Only later would it turn out that you weren’t yet supposed to know what a Dreg even was. There were a lot of things you weren’t supposed to know.

  
The light – the Ghost that was now yours, even if you had the feeling that the color was wrong, the shell was the wrong shape – finally floated into your view, shuddering and weak. Your heart broke, and- Well. The name that escaped you, confused and vaguely familiar, made her stop and tilt herself confusedly. The Ghost didn’t have a name. Why did you think she had a name?

  
You decided on a different one, in the end, after that moment of confusion and apology that made you feel sheepish and somehow ashamed. You chose the name Aisa. In your confusion, you had called her _Nona_ , and the name still hurt your heart in a way that ran deeper than memory.

  
You hardly needed any explanation of what you were; Aisa gave it all anyway, but you seemed to know half of it already. Blurs of it were already familiar to you, even her confusion as she attempted and failed to figure out what class of Guardian you fell into, those faint glimpses of your Light that she had seen before it all vanished too confusing to tell. You knew what the Traveller was. You knew you were a Guardian too. But the Tower, the Red Legion, the killing of Crota, and so many other events- They were new, and so you listened. You listened, and grew _angry_.

  
You quickly moved on with her, away from where you had been rebirthed back into the world, seemingly not heading towards anything in particular. At first, there was nowhere to go anyway; every frequency picked up on a radio you found was either Guardians calling for help, or a recorded message from someone called Zavala, calling Guardians to fall back to Titan – an idea that made you wince, that you somehow knew was a terrible plan. But, eventually, finally, there was a new signal. A place in the European Dead Zone, a place called the Farm, offering a safe haven for the scattered. But first, you had to get there, over expanses of land it would be impossible to traverse by foot. Not with the entirety of the Red Legion between you and the safe hideaway. And so, you continued to follow your gut.

  
You didn’t even know what you were headed for, though you knew what the Fallen were. Even though you knew how to best kill swarms of Thrall, how to confuse Vex until you could get the drop on them, how to break a Cabal’s neck with your own slight, bare hands. You used that last trick very, _very_ often.

  
You knew your name, too. Remembered a woman pressing gently on your shoulder and laughing it out, remembered her beautiful voice.

  
Kalare. Your name was Kalare. There was something else, but it escaped your grasp every time you tried to latch on, silver wings flitting just out of sight every time...

  
And at the end of your trek was a base, old and abandoned but marked with forgotten signs of Guardian occupation. Locked, but… Somehow you knew the code, and somehow the security systems accepted you and let you in. There were ships, there were weapons, and there was a Light that had seeped into the place, warming it until the chill of outside couldn’t even touch it. It wasn’t enough to give you and Aisa anything but comfort, but it felt like safety. It felt like home. And everything else seemed to avoid it despite the caches of supplies, of food and water. You picked up another set of armour, a set of blue and white that seemed to fit you like a glove, a set that seemed as familiar as the feeling of belonging here that had settled into your bones. The swan imagery on it felt like _yours_. In the end you took more than just the armour. A rifle, a short sword, and a ship as blue as the sky and armed as deadly as lightning you took as well, Aisa gushing over lost technology. You couldn’t help but shake your head and giggle at her enthusiasm, letting her scan anything she came across.

  
You had left her to her work and wandered off to explore when you had suddenly paused at a door with the name scratched off, though. Something twisted in your gut at the sight, heavy and nervous as you pushed open the door carefully. Empty of course, abandoned and left to rot, bed and all. Someone’s living quarters, with the bed still made, looking as if it was preserved instead of lived in. Where had the occupant gone then? Why was it set up for her, as if she wasn’t going to come back?

  
…You weren’t quite sure why you thought the previous occupant had been a woman. Didn’t know why this room made your heart ache so much. In the end, only Aisa’s concerned call of your name made you leave, feeling like you had left behind something incredibly important. If only you could remember it…

  
You took the things you’d chosen, the weapons and armour and ship that felt right, and you and Aisa left. Towards the Farm, towards safety.

  
Of course, taking flight was a dumb move, even if it was the only way to reach the Farm within any reasonable amount of time. The Cabal ships found you in a mere hour.

  
Curses flew from both you and your Ghost as you tried to out maneuver them, to get into a position where you could fire back. You were fast, but the Cabal ships were faster; this wasn’t a craft built for battling ships so fast. Something you questioned in angry frustration as you tried to push the controls just a little bit harder, desperately tried to turn the craft around to fire back.

  
The lance of sharp black suddenly through the cockpit of the lead ship was a surprise. But you didn’t question it. It gave you a window, turning the ship around in one quick, aggressive motion and opening fire on the second ship, drowning it in a rain of bullets. It didn’t expect a Guardian’s ship to have any firepower. Their mistake. As the second ship went down like the first, streaking fire and smoke, the third burst through the haze and opened fire back. You were in no position to dodge, alarms starting to scream as red hot laser-fire scraped over your ship- And then, suddenly, a form black as night and so dark that it seemed to suck in the light around it slid in front. A Cabal-looking ship, but consumed, Aisa quaking behind your head and whispering about how Dark it felt. It made short work of the final Red Legion ship, firing off another merciless burst of black light, slicing the Cabal craft clean in half… And then merely floated there. You turned away, gunned the engines to get far from it, but it only followed. Never shot at you, was never aggressive. Just followed.

  
And even though the fear still made your breaths come quick and your heart beat fast… There was some strange sort of comfort, draped in the same sort of familiarity that had hit you in the room with the scratched out name. With the woman who had never come home.

  
It disappeared into thin air, just as you arrived at the Farm at last, your ship nearly crashing as the engines gave up, as you skidded it along the lake. When other Guardians pulled you out, you tasted the Light around them, and realized you’d come to exactly where you needed to be.

  
But the other Guardians didn’t believe you about the ship of Darkness, about the strangeness of the base you had found. They told you that there were countless abandoned Guardian outposts out there, left to the elements, loaded with lost and ancient technology. They told you that a few of them had experienced visions that brought them to the Traveller’s shard that laid out deeper in the Dead Zone, dismissing your claims of the ship’s Darkness. They might be Guardians, but there are some things even Guardians aren’t likely to believe.

  
They will not believe in the existence of an impossible Guardian, brought back to life when the Light had gone out, knowing far more at the moment of his rebirth than he should.

  
But, the impossible is often more possible than one thinks. It has happened before, and will happen again; those who think that something cannot be done will be proven wrong, time and time again.

  
And impossible Kalare, with your ancient swan-marked armour, sky blue, silver, and white…

  
You are only one of _nine_.

**Author's Note:**

> "Kalare, the Silver Swan, one of the legendary Valiant Nine. He is said to have died fifty-three years before the Traveller was found, in a terrific battle against hordes of Fallen somewhere on the North American continent, in which he vaporized a force seven hundred strong in his dying breaths. Kalare was said to be extremely adept at using Arc energy, and texts say he would 'sing' with it. However these same texts don't explain how this was done, or what this technique is. Because of the vagueness in these tales, it is unlikely that most of the Valiant Nine ever existed; if they did, it's certain that the stories have greatly exaggerated their abilities over the years."  
> \- Unknown Cryptarch


End file.
